I used to smoke joints

With the fly on the wall inside my mind,

Every night,

Until she told me

She was only capable of loving her dog.


She tattooed my hand in a stranger’s saliva

To show me how free music is.

She told me “If you aren’t living on the edge

Then you are taking up too much room,”

So I followed her to California

Where I saw the earth’s curve and realized;

The edge is overrated.

Eleven years high;

Four days to overdose.

With Sailor Jerry’s and Molly’s eyes,

I refused the line off her ass,

And the one off her tit,

As I turned my head

To see the dead bodies

On our way to Vegas.


After that she left me in Wyoming.